


Hunting the Hero

by scifigrl47



Series: In Which Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends (But His Family Was Assigned by Nick Fury) [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, universe jumping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some mistakes cannot be corrected.   Some sins cannot be forgiven.   Some things cannot be made right.    And some roads, once taken, will never lead you home.</p><p>That doesn't people from trying.  Especially people who've done the impossible before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will not make any gosh darn sense without having read the rest of the series. I do try to make most of these stand alone pieces, but this one leans heavily on things that have already been established in previous stories of the Toasterverse. Plot, my old nemesis, you knew I'd be back eventually.
> 
> Seriously. This will make NO SENSE if you haven't read the others. Hell, it probably won't make sense at the beginning even with those. Please bear with me. Hopefully, I'll be able to pull everything together.
> 
> Warnings: This is going to get physical, and threatening. Everyone will be fine, but there's a definite creep aspect to this, as well as mistaken identities and people taking advantage of mistaken identities in creepy ways. This will never go beyond kissing, light physical contact, and conversation. It is still hella creepy, and wrong. But it will not go beyond that, and there will be no sexual contact other than kissing. Still. Creepy. So be aware it's there.

No one noticed when the tall, slim man appeared on the street. 

That was New York, no one tended to notice things like a square of pavement suddenly acquiring a new occupant out of no where. People had places to go, people to see, phones to stare at, music to listen to, and they tended to keep their heads down and mind their own business. The only time a new arrival was noticed was when he got in the way.

Which meant that the sudden, impossible arrival of the dark haired, dark eyed man in the long black coat escaped notice. Again.

He allowed himself a faint smile. He really ought to be used to it by now. He couldn't control his jumps, he couldn't control where he landed, but he'd long since learned that if he landed still and steady and silent, and then immediately fell into step with the crowd, if there was a crowd, then nine times out of ten, no one even gave him a sideways glance.

The one time out of ten that he was noticed, he generally had bigger things to worry about. Like the fact that the sky was falling in, or there were alien drop ships trying to kill everyone, or the streets were covered in magma or leaflets with some psychopath's face and the word OBEY. None of that was good. All of it was completely and utterly not good, and he was so sick of poor graphic design when it came to convincing people to fall in line and worship an evil overlord.

There was simply no excuse for poor graphic design. Especially if you'd already enslaved hundreds of advertising firms. People had to follow you at that point, there was really no point in rubbing salt in the wounds by making them feel embarrassed it.

But this world was, for all intents and purposes, normal. He smiled, a little humorlessly. As if the word meant anything at all to him. It might have, once, but that was along time ago, so long that he could barely recall it. Or maybe he just didn't want to remember. 

It was far easier not to remember. It was far easier to just keep moving forward. To scan the skyline, the streets, to look for a sign of what he was facing this time.

The crowd parted, just for an instant, but it was long enough. Just long enough to spot her. She was short and curvy, dressed neatly in a light skirt that swirled around her legs every time the breeze kicked up, and a blue blazer. Her hair was a halo of bright brown curls, the strands twisting around her throat as she tilted her head to the side, staring up the street, watching for her bus. She was alone at the bus station, her phone in one hand, and the other wrapped securely around the strap of her purse.

For an instant, his eyes fell shut, something like fear curling through him. Some omens, he'd learned to fear. It wasn't rational. It wasn't right. But he'd learned to respect it anyway. His hand went to the pocket of his coat, pulling out his last link to the life he'd left. The palm sized tablet hummed to life with a touch of his thumb, and it went to work, sweeping for the nearest wifi port that it could access.

As he waited for it to connect, he dropped down onto the bus stop bench, a few feet away from her. "Excuse me, miss," he said, his eyes still on his tablet. “What's the date today”

She didn't turn her head, didn't really give him any attention. But her eyes flicked in his direction, just for a second. Sharp brown eyes beneath heavy lashes, they focused on him, weighing the question. When she answered, it was quick and brusque, just the date, and nothing more. Then she went back to watching the traffic, her chin up, her eyes narrowed against the sun.

He nodded. “Thank you.” The tablet chirped as it gained access, and in an instant, he was pulling up everything that he needed. News stories. Bios. History. Conspiracies. He studied the flow of data in front of him, isolating elements with a flick of his fingers.

The silence stretched, and her head finally tipped in his direction. “You making out a check?” she asked, curiosity overtaking her.

He tapped lightly on the screen. "No,” he said, almost distracted by the words. “I'm a time traveler.” Not quite accurate, but simpler than explaining the truth. “It's hard to figure these things out, you see.”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open, just a little. "Okay," she said at last, as she tucked her phone away in her purse and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm gonna drink your Kool-Aid, Mr. Time Traveler. Why are you here?"

"I," he said, his fingers flicking over the tablet's face, pulling up a street map, and overlaid it deed listings, "am on a quest."

Her grin was slow, but real, her round cheeks pink with the wind. "Yeah? From God or from the government?"

"It's more of a...” He paused. A need. A compulsion. He wasn't sure how to define it any longer. He didn't know if he ever could. “A personal quest,” he explained.

"To do what, exactly?"

He looked at her, smiling, just a little. “Something that must be done.”

She leaned in, one eyebrow arched. "What is your quest?" she asked, her voice low and raspy.

"To seek the Holy Grail," he said, his smile stretching wide. Talking felt unreal, unnatural, sometimes. He missed it, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. He rolled the sound of each one in his mouth, missing things that he would never have again. "And before you can ask, my favorite color is red." 

"Good to know that Monty Python survives in the far future when time travel becomes possible," she mused. She leaned against the pole of the bus stop, her arms still crossed. "Seriously. Why New York? Why now?"

He pressed his palm to the face of the tablet, clearing out the data. Everything looked, for the lack of a better word, normal. He wasn't sure why, but that worried him. More than he'd like to admit. Instead, he looked at her, because she worried him, too. "I'm looking for a man,” he said, watching her closely.

She chuckled, her head falling back. "Aren't we all? For a date, or a bounty? I can't read you at all. It's annoying."

He couldn't quite stop the smile that slipped across his face. “I will try not to take that as a compliment.” He slipped the tablet into his pocket and rolled to his feet. “I'm here to take him home.”

She considered that. “And he doesn't want to go?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because he has a quest as well.”

“And you're trying to stop him,” she inferred.

“Yes.”

Her heel clicked against the sidewalk, a twitch of nervous movement. “Why? What is he trying to do?”

“What he thinks is the right thing. And I think the right thing is to stop him. One of us is wrong, but we persist on our paths, both of us.” He pushed his sleeve back, studying the face of his watch. "Until our time runs out."

She considered him. "You're not joking."

His head tipped to the side, his sleeve falling back to cover the crystal face. "No," he said, the single word almost apologetic. "I'm not."

Her breath was slow and audible, sucked in through her teeth. "Why are you telling me this?"

He stilled. "I'm not quite certain," he said, after a moment. His hand went to his other wrist, his thumb sliding beneath the cuff of his shirt to smooth over the watch face. “It seemed the thing to do.” He'd stopped questioning the impulse. He tried to learn from his mistakes. From all of his many mistakes.

"Aren't you afraid I'll tell someone?"

His smile was slight, and wry. "Would anyone believe you?"

"Before a hole opened in the sky and aliens tried to kill us? No. Now?" Her shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug. "People are different now.” She waved a hand at the skyline. “The world's different now."

"Every one of them." He shook his head. "Your world has changed. I wish it hadn't, Bernie.”

Her expression didn't change, but her fingers tightened on the strap of her purse. “How do you know my name?”

He looked at the skyline, at the sharp lines of the tower, looming over the buildings that surrounded it. "Because we've met before, Bernadette Rosenthal.” He gave her a faint smile. “They will believe you.” He paused. “They always believe you.”

Her head was shaking, a nervous little tremble of her chin. But her voice was still steady, still strong. “I don't know you.”

“Ah, but I know you.” He met her eyes. “When the time comes, you need to go to SHIELD, and tell them what I told you.”

“Wait, what do you mean, when the time comes?” Her eyes darted around, but no one else was taking any notice of them. That was how New York worked. People had their own problems, their own focus, and Bernie knew it. She took a wobbly breath. “How will I know?”

“You'll know.” The wind kicked up, a sharp burst of cold air that made her shiver. He stepped to the side, blocking it, and she shied back. Just a half step, a nervous flinch, before she caught herself. Before she set her chin and her heels and faced him head on.

"Who are you?" she said, her voice steady.

He smiled. "Hunter."

"Is that your name, or your current profession?"

He shrugged. "Does it matter? I answer to it."

She nodded. "All right, Mr. Hunter. I repeat. How am I supposed to know when the time comes?”

He took a deep breath. “Ms. Rosenthal? You will know. And if and when the time comes, you will know what you have to do.”

“What if I don't?”

He turned away, his shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his coat. “You will. The fate of your world might depend on it.”

“Might?” she called after him.

“I'm a time traveler,” he said, turning on his heel to face her one last time, “not a futurist!” He spread his hands. “Sometimes, we have to make the future we want to see! Or the one we're willing to live with.”

He spun back around and let the crowd swallow him. He knew where he was going.

He knew where his quarry was heading. And he had just under forty-eight hours left to catch him.

*

He was never certain of his welcome.

It was always a guessing game, when he walked through those doors, if he'd be facing a warm welcome, or a firing squad. He braced himself for the worst, every time, every time he set foot through those doors. This time, the guards by the door just smiled at him, giving him a nod and a wave. He returned it, some of the tension bleeding out of him. 

He slowed his steps as he crossed the lobby, watching as several people slipped between the security stations, swiping keycards and pausing for retinal scans, depending on which elevator bank they were heading for. Inside of his pockets, his hands formed fists. He glanced at the guards, picking out a tall, thin woman with short cropped black hair and a pleasant smile.

She looked up as he approached, and a smile bloomed on her face, wide and bright. "Hey, Cap," she said, her head tipping to the side. "Did you get a haircut?"

He reached up, pushing his fingers through the short strands. "Yeah," he said, smiling back, because this was easy, this was something he'd done, something he'd said, a thousand times. "What do you think?"

"I think you can pull it off," she said, her eyes dancing. "Looks nice."

He ducked his head, just a little, still smiling. "Yeah?" He looked up at her, from beneath the sweep of his lashes, and her cheeks went red. It wasn't nice, but he'd long since given up on nice.

He'd long since given up on a lot of things. He didn't have the time, not if he wanted to stay one step ahead. 

"Yeah," she agreed. Someone passed by, and her eyes went to her screen, making sure that their passcard registered properly. She might've been distracted, but she was well trained and she took her job seriously. He heaved a mental sigh, but kept his face still as she looked back up at him. "What can I do for you?"

He winced, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "I left my passcard back at SHIELD," he admitted. 

Her eyebrows arched. "Wow."

"I know," he said, shaking his head. "I'm a walking security breech."

"You kind of are, but don't worry about it." Her head tipped to the side, her eyes going up. "Jarvis should still be able to match you with a quick scan. He'll let you through."

He let out a faint sigh, smiling as he did it. "It's embarrassing when the alarms go off."

"Ain't it, though?" Her fingers flew over her keyboard. "But all of the Avengers are in the database, can't have you locked out just 'cause you left your keycard in your other uniform. You should be fine. Unless you and Mr. Stark are arguing at the moment," she added, her smile puckish.

A knot in his chest that he hadn't even been aware of loosened in a rush of relief. Tony. This time, it had worked. This time. His fingers slipped beneath the cuff of his shirt, smoothing over the crystal face of his watch. His fingernail caught on the broken face, and he stroked along the crack, comforted by it. 

This time, he could fix it.

“I don't think I am,” he said aloud, giving the guard a smile. “But with Tony, I've been caught off guard before.”

She laughed again, and bent over her screen. “Well, then, let's see.” Her fingers danced over the keys, quick and light, and her eyes tipped up to the screen. “What do you know. Captain Steven Rogers, Avenger and resident.” She gave him a thumbs up. “You are still cleared for all floors, Cap.” She leaned forward, bracing her arms on the edge of the console. “And I'm sure that Jarvis can make you up a new keycard.”

“I bet he can, but I think I'd prefer to be on Tony's bad side before I'd get on Jarvis's,” he said. 

“You are a smart man,” she said. “The boss has a limited attention span, but Jarvis never forgets.” She waved a hand towards the elevator banks. “Go on through, Cap.”

“Thanks.” With a grin and a nod, he walked past the security station, through the scanners, and into the secure area. No alarms blared, no lights flashed, nothing happened. As he approached the elevators, the doors slid open for him, and he stepped inside without missing a beat.

Only after they closed did he relax. Captain Steven Rogers tipped his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “Hey, Jarvis?” he asked. “Any idea where Tony is?”

“He is in the workshop, Steve,” Jarvis replied, the familiar voice bringing a slight smile to Rogers' face. “Do you wish to join him?”

“Yeah, thank you, Jarvis.” The elevator began moving immediately, and he let his eyes close, let his shoulders relax. When the elevator stilled, when the doors opened with a hiss, he didn't move. Didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to give up on the possibility, not just yet.

But the music washed over him, even through the buffer of the glass walls around the workshop. It filled the air, it washed over him, and he couldn't keep his eyes shut any longer. He wasn't aware of leaving the elevator, all he knew was that Tony was there, right in front of him.

He stood there, watching through the glass, through an impossible distance of time and space. Tony was dancing, grinning, his head back, his hands spread wide. He was yelling, or singing, or arguing, Rogers didn't know which one, didn't know if he cared. All he knew was that Tony's mouth was moving, the words lost in the throbbing beat of the music.

He could've stood there until his time ran out, just watching this. Just watching Tony. But Tony turned, and Rogers knew the moment that Tony spotted him, because he grinned, eyes lighting up. Rogers smiled back, unable to move, rooted to the spot, as Tony crossed over to the glass panel.

Tony threw open the door, his hands braced on the frame. The music pounded out behind him, the air vibrating with every beat. Tony grinned up at him. “You planning on coming in, or just enjoying the view?” he asked, and his smile was heartbreaking.

Rogers nodded. “It's a nice view,” he said, the words soft, almost lost under the music. Tony's eyes rolled up, but his grin just got wider.

“Yeah, yeah, you've seen it.” He pulled himself back, his body a whiplash of wired energy. “Jay, drop the music.” He headed back across the workshop, every step bouncing him forward, and he was alive, bright and brilliant and so beautiful it make Rogers' throat ache. “Thought you had things to do over at SHIELD today, what're you doing back?”

Rogers followed behind him, drinking in the sight of him, the way he moved and the way that he stood and the way that he spoke. It had been so long. It had been so long, and he knew it would be just as long again. Before he found a Tony so healthy and happy and alive.

Tony glanced at him, one eyebrow arched, and Rogers realized he was still waiting for a reply. “Got everything wrapped up early,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Early enough for you to get a haircut.”

Rogers glanced up. “Yeah,” he said. “What do you think?”

Tony considered him, his head tipped to the side, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Hmmmm...” he said, cupping a hand over his mouth. With his other hand, he gestured Rogers over. “Let's see.”

Rogers moved to stand in front of him, and when Tony made a little 'turn around' gesture with his hand, he obeyed that, too. When he was facing Tony again, Tony reached up and slid a hand through his hair. He'd half been expecting it, but still, his whole body jerked at the contact, at the ease of it, at the obvious intimacy that it signaled.

Before he could pull himself together, Tony's hand slid around to the back of his neck, pulling him down. The kiss was tasted of coffee and sugar, a little too hot and a little too deep to truly be sweet, and he sank into it like he was drowning. His hands hovered in the air, desperate to grab hold and cling, but not willing to let himself do it. This wasn't his. This would never be his.

But Tony leaned into him, his body flush against Rogers' and his fingertips rough against the nape of Rogers' neck. He leaned into the kiss, even as Tony's lips slanted against his, the prickle of his goatee making Rogers twitch against him. The kiss went on, far longer than he'd expected, but Tony was enjoying himself, and Rogers was drowning.

When Tony finally pulled away, Rogers' hands were on Tony's waist, his grip a little too tight, a little too desperate. “I like it,” Tony said, and Rogers didn't understand.

Until he did. “My haircut,” he said, his tongue heavy on the words. “You like my haircut.”

“I like your haircut,” Tony agreed, a faint smirk on his lips. “Try to keep up here, Cap.” His hand slipped along the side of Rogers' neck, cupping the side of his face. His fingers were rough, the tips calloused, and Rogers leaned into the touch, savoring it, trying to memorize it. He pressed his lips to Tony's palm, and let his eyes fall shut.

Tony leaned in, his forehead bumping against Rogers'. “Hey?” he said, and Rogers opened his eyes. Tony was frowning at him now, concern on his face, in his eyes. “Hey.” His voice dropped. “What's wrong?”

It took Rogers two or three tries, but he managed to smile, sad and soft. “Nothing at all,” he said. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Tony's temple. “I'm sorry.”

Tony's eyebrows arched, a smile curving his lips. But his eyes were still considering. “That's usually my line.”

Rogers nodded. “This time, it's mine. I'm sorry.”

“I'd ask for what, but-” A buzzer went off, and Tony held up a hand. “Hold that thought, soldier, gotta deal with this before something blows up.” He took a step back, and for an instant, Rogers couldn't get his hands to let go, couldn't bear to let him go again. But Tony just laughed, and kissed him again, light and affectionate, and pulled free of his grip. “Seriously, going like ten feet that way, I'll be right back,” he said, amusement rolling through the words. “What the hell did SHIELD do to you?” 

“Sorry,” Rogers said, pulling himself back, forcing his hands to his sides. But Tony reached out, long fingers wrapping around Rogers' wrist. 

Tony brought Rogers' hand up, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm. His lips lingered there, his breath warm against Rogers' skin, and when he let it fall, Rogers' curled his fingers into his palm. It felt stupid, trying to hold onto a kiss, trying to savor the already fading warmth, but he did it anyway.

And when Tony headed across the workshop, Rogers trailed in his wake, trying to memorize every move, every sound, in what little time he had left.

“Hey, Jay, what've we got?” Tony sang out, snagging the arm of one of the assembly bots and swinging himself around, a whiplash of speed and strength, the muscles of his back and shoulders standing out under the thin fabric of his shirt. He crouched down, taking the new piece from the bots, turning it over in his hands. It gleamed, red and brilliant, in his fingers, and Rogers' stomach rolled over.

It had been a long time since he'd seen the Iron Man armor. Some things, it would seem, he didn't forget.

“Reaction time will be limited,” Jarvis was saying, and Tony waved him off.

“Yeah, when is it not,” he said. He slid his arm into the gauntlet, and it whirred as it tightened into place. Tony flexed the fingers. “Functional, though.”

“It will assist in certain aspects,” Jarvis agreed. “But the power usage-”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Tony said. He reached out with his bare hand, and snagged the front of Rogers' shirt. “C'mere, you, Dummy's in time out so I need an extra pair of hands.” He headed for the workbench, pulling Rogers along with him.

“Do I get a choice about this?” Rogers asked, despite the fact that all he wanted to do was curl against Tony's back and watch him work.

“Nope!” Tony said, grinning. “Sing for your supper, Steve!” But when they reached the bench, Tony's fingers slid free, and he boosted himself up onto the stool. “I think we can get a little bit better of a response time, Jay,” he said, reaching for a soldering iron. “Steve, can you grab me that-” He gestured at the shelf over his bench, and Rogers' head tipped back.

He didn't understand for a moment. How could he? Nightmares weren't supposed to show up, innocuous and unassuming, in the bright light of midday. But that's what this was, a fragment of a nightmare, lying on a shelf, just above eye level.

It was a small box, only the size of his hand, faceted and strange. He blinked once, twice, and it seemed to blend in with the rest of the tech odds and ends that Tony had shoved there, just out of reach, just out of sight. It seemed like another bit of a magpie's glittering stash of metal and wire, it seemed harmless.

But he knew what it was, and what it meant.

He stared at it, nausea rolling through him, a physical force that threatened to knock his legs out from under him. His fingers locked on the edge of the workbench, his knuckles going white with the force of his grip.

Tony followed his gaze, and went still. “Steve?”

He couldn't speak, he couldn't move. He could barely breathe. “Yes?” he managed, and that word took effort, it took all the effort he could manage. “Sorry, what?”

Tony leaned his elbows on the workbench, setting the soldering iron aside. “What? It's right where it's always been,” he said, and there was a note to his voice that Rogers didn't understand. But he was smiling, just a little, faint and light.

Rogers nodded. “Yes,” he said. The word made him dizzy. Tony's words, his words. Right where it's always been. Always. It was always there. It was there. Always there. Tony was moving now, and Rogers didn't care. As long as Tony was moving away from the box, from that nightmare of a thing.

As long as Tony still had the ability to move away from it.

He caught the movement, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move, and he had half a second to react. It was muscle memory that saved him, it was instinct that brought his hand up, blocking the blow before it could land. Only after his fingers closed on the unyielding metal did he realize what it was. 

For an instant, stunned, he just stood there, his hand locked around the crowbar. His eyes went from it, to Tony's face, and back. “Tony?” To his own ears, his voice sounded hurt, almost lost.

Tony said nothing, he just tugged, hard, trying to wrench the crowbar free of Rogers' grip, and Rogers understood.

“Oh,” he said, his voice quiet and still. “He can't see it.”

“No,” Tony gritted out. “HE can't. So who the fuck are you?”

Rogers half turned, his eyes locking on that box. On that horrible, nightmarish little box. “He can't see it,” he whispered. “He can't see it. He can't protect you. He can't stop it.” The words seemed to come from a long way off, from a long time ago.

He could see it all so clearly. Even after so many years, after so much effort, so many horrible years, he could remember how it began. With something so small, something so innocuous. He hadn't recognized it at the time, there was no way he could've known.

But now, he knew where it would end. How it would end. Unless he stopped it.

Rogers swayed on his feet, a sensation of warmth rolling over him. He could. He could stop it. It would be so easy. He looked at Tony, and knew.

“I can stop it this time,” he whispered, and Tony let go of the crowbar. He stumbled backwards, one step, then two, crashing into a workbench, and half turning on one foot. Things went crashing to the floor, metal and tools, and a coffee cup that shattered with a crash.

“Jarvis-” Tony said, and that was as far as he got before Rogers was on him.

His hand closed over Tony's mouth, his other arm going around Tony's waist, lifting him off of his feet. “Sorry,” Rogers said, his voice rough against Tony's ear. Tony struggled against his grip, twisting hard against the way that Rogers held him. “I am sorry,” he said, and he meant it. But at the same time, feeling of peace swept over him, washing away the shame, and the doubt. 

Washing away everything other than the knowledge that he was doing just what had to be done.

“It's going to be all right, Tony,” he said. “This time, it's going to be fine.” He pressed his lips to Tony's hair, lingering there. “I promise. This time. I can fix this. You can help me make this right.”

Tony twisted in his arms, wrenching one arm free. His arm came up, crossing his body to reach over his shoulder, shoving his hand into Rogers' face. Rogers had an instant to see the white disc, had less than an instant to recognize it, and then the repulsor was exploding in his face.

Everything went white.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some angst, some misplaced guilt, and characters in jeopardy, but it will all be fine. Promise!

Not Steve. Not Steve. Not Steve.

Tony's mind was a blank, was barely functional, but he was ripping himself free of the man's grip. Not Steve. It wasn't Steve. It looked like Steve, it sounded like Steve, hell, it KISSED like Steve, but whoever it was, whatever it was, it was not Steve. 

His feet hit the ground of the workshop and he ignored the smell of scorched hair, of burnt skin, and because the man's hands were falling away, he was stumbling back, and as soon as his grip was loose enough, Tony slammed an elbow back into his solar plexus. The brutal blow was enough, because just like that, he was free.

He got a step away, maybe two, and he was out of reach, he knew he was out of reach, and then a hand snagged the back of his shirt, dragging him to a stop. Tony twisted around, the gauntlet locked into place, his heart hammering in his ears.

His breath seized in his throat. “You are not Steve,” he said, choking on the words.

The thing, the not-Steve THING in front of him blinked. As Tony watched, the red, patchy burns on his cheek and neck paled and faded, his skin smoothing out in a matter of seconds. “I am,” he said, his face twisted in something that looked like hurt, hurt and bewilderment, and Tony slammed the heel of his gauntlet covered hand into the thing's nose.

The impact went all the way up his arm, and Tony wrenched himself free. “No. You're not,” he said, stumbling back. “I have no idea what you are, but you are. Not. Steve. JARVIS, INITIATE-”

“Well, this is not good.”

Tony spun around, his arm coming up, instinct and muscle memory bringing the repulsor to bear before he even fully knew what he was doing. He had an instant to see the lean, dark haired, dark eyed man walking towards him, and then he was firing.

The man moved so fast that Tony couldn't even track it, one hand coming up like a shot, catching Tony's wrist and slapping it up and away. The repulsor blast hissed over his shoulder, close enough to singe his skin, but he didn't even blink. He just tightened his fingers on Tony's wrist, swinging him around and in.

Before Tony could do more than suck in a breath, the man leaned in, smiling at him. “You need to run now,” he said, the words almost gentle.

Tony gaped at him. “Wha-”

The man sighed, his black brows winging over his eyes. “Just once, I'd like you to show some evidence of a self-preservation instinct. It would be such a nice change.”

“Who the hell-”

“RUN!” the man yelled, and he spun Tony around, shoving him hard towards the door. “You fool, just RUN!”

Tony ran. 

Halfway to the door, his brain caught up with his body, and behind him, as if from a distance, he heard the newcomer say, “Don't. Don't try me, Steven. I will not let you-”

There was a crash, and almost against his will, Tony looked back, just in time to see the thing with Steve's face slam into the dark haired man, lifting him off his feet and sending both of them slamming into the workbench. Things hit the ground, metal and glass hitting and splintering around their feet.

“Jarvis, lock everything down,” Tony said, slipping through the door and slamming it shut behind him. “Full protocol, alert SHIELD, get everything-”

And inside of the workshop, the two men, still locked together, flickered and disappeared.

Tony stood there, his breath coming in heavy pants. He backed up, one step, then two, until his back hit the wall. He didn't trust his eyes, not any more, he'd seen too much weird shit in the last few minutes. “Jarvis, scan the workshop. Any occupants?”

There was a faint beep. “No. The workshop is currently unoccupied.”

“Well, fuck.” Tony's head fell back against the wall with a thump. His eyes went to the door. “I let the first one in,” he said, his voice quiet. “Jarvis, how did the second man access the workshop?”

“I do not understand, sir.”

“The second intruder.” Tony's head went back. “Jay? How did the second intruder get in?”

There was a beat of silence. “There have only been two inhabitants of the workshop in the last hour,” Jarvis said at last. “You, sir, and Captain Rogers.”

Tony's eyes closed. “Don't do this to me, Jarvis. If I can't trust my eyes, and I can't trust yours, what chance do I have?”

“I am sorry, sir,” Jarvis said. He sounded confused, almost lost, and Tony shook his head.

“Get me a line to SHIELD. Now, Jay. We can figure out what your problem is after I am no longer freaking out about this.” His knees went out from under him, and he slid down the wall, his legs tucked against his chest. He let his head fall forward, and he wrapped his arms around his knees.

He wasn't sure why he was shaking, but he couldn't seem to make it stop.

*

“Question. Do you have a plan that doesn't involve you walking directly into a trap?”

“Not really,” Clint said, with a faint shrug. “It's kind of a team signature.” He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “We know what we're good at, and we tend to stick with it.”

Agent Abigail Brand gave him a look. “Have you considered a smarter team signature?” she asked, her hands braced on the table in front of her. “Most people would.”

“Most people wouldn't have let Clint on the team,” Natasha said, from the other side of the table. She was moving through the maps and briefing materials with her usual efficiency, but there was a smile hovering around her lips.

“That was a mistake,” Clint agreed, spinning an arrow shaft between two fingers. “Big mistake. We make a lot of them.”

“I'm noticing.” Brand straightened up, her attention focused on the holographic display that floated in front of her. “In all seriousness-”

“In all seriousness,” Steve said, sounding faintly amused, “walking into a trap's only a problem if you don't have a way back out. If you do...” He reached out, tracing a finger over the holographic landscape. “Well, then, that's something different.”

Brand considered his alterations to the plan, and let out a huff of breath that could've been a laugh or a groan. “It's still stupid,” she said, blunt as ever.

“But it's less stupid,” Steve said.

“Slightly.” Brand shook her head. “And only very slightly.”

“He's a genius when it comes to military strategy,” Clint pointed out. “It's in his file.”

“So is 'jumps out of a plane without a parachute,'” Brand said. “That one's in big letters. Right up at the top. So we can't miss it.” 

“Coulson bumped it up to the top,” Natasha said. 

“Nice of him.” 

“It's a long file,” Steve pointed out, smiling. “People don't always read it all the way to the end.”

“Most people are traumatized way before the end,” Natasha agreed.

“Wimps,” Clint said, on a yawn. “Can't we just blow it up and mark this as done?” 

“Tempting, but not effective,” Steve told him. 

“I know this is just a training scenario, but can we please pretend to give it our full attention, Agents?” Brand stepped up beside Steve. “You need to-”

The door to the briefing room opened, and she broke off. All four of them looked over as first two, then four, then six, strike team members filed in, flanking the doorway in pairs. Brand crossed her arms over her chest, her chin coming up. “Can we help you, gentlemen?” she asked, her eyes sliding over their faces.

No one replied.

“What did you do?” Natasha asked Clint, her voice pitched low.

“I was about to ask you,” he said, shrugging. He flipped the arrow around and imbedded the tip into the table beside him with a snap of his wrist. 

“Nothing that I've been caught at,” she said, just before Maria Hill walked in.

She studied them, her face expressionless, and her hand went to her ear. “We've got them.” Her free hand came up, closing out the holographic display. “Change of plans,” she said, her voice tight. “We have a situation.”

Nat and Clint exchanged a look, and Steve spoke up. “What sort of a situation?” he asked, his voice tight.

Hill considered him for a moment, then her eyes snapped towards Brand. “How long have you been in here?”

Brand's eyes narrowed. “An hour, hour and a half. Are we over our scheduled time, ma'am?” she asked, a faint edge to the words.

“Did you leave at any point?”

Brand considered her, then the others. “No,” she said. “None of us left the room.”

“Support staff gave us scones and coffee,” Clint said, his voice laconic. “And files. Big fucking piles of files. We're in hog heaven, ma'am. Who needs to leave?”

Hill ignored him. “You are certain of that?” she asked Brand.

Brand held up a hand. “Scout's honor,” she said. “What's happened?”

“Someone,” Nick Fury said, striding through the door, “just made it through the security system at Stark Tower and attacked Tony.” 

Clint jerked, the words hitting like a body blow. Next to him, Natasha was on her feet, the movement so fast and so smooth that it barely registered as movement at all. Next to her, Steve rocked back on his heels. “How? Is he hurt? What happened?” he asked. To his credit, his voice was calm, controlled. He didn't panic under stress, he just got more focused. Sharper. Harder.

“We were hoping you could shed some light on that, actually,” Fury said, and for a second, Clint really thought Steve was going to walk out of the room, no matter who tried to get in his way. Instead, he sucked in a heavy breath, his jaw locked tight.

“What are you-” Steve's head swiveled between Fury, Hill, and the strike team members. “Sir. What the hell is going on?”

For a long moment, Fury was silent, just staring at Steve, his one dark eye narrowed into a slit. “Stark's fine,” he said at last. “Little scuffed up, but he handled it. In his own unique way. Perp got loose, but Tony's fine.”

Steve's shoulders relaxed, just a little, but his breathing smoothed out. Clint look at Nat, confused, and she shook her head. “We have any information about his attacker?” she asked, because there was something wrong here, something that all of them were missing. 

“That's our problem.” Fury's head tipped forward, studying Steve. “Looking at the security footage, Cap, it would appear that it was you.” In the stunned silence that followed, he arched his eyebrows. “You got a twin we should know about?”

Steve took a breath, his face twisting in confusion. “If I do, it's news to me, too.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Fury turned on his heel. “Let's go. Agent Brand, you too. This might very well fall under your purview.”

“Glad to be working with you,” Brand said to Clint as they fell into step behind Fury.

Clint rolled his shoulders. “You won't feel that way in a few hours, so enjoy it while you can.” 

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. “A possible double or clone of Captain America, of unknown, but possibly extraterrestrial origins that falls within my department?” She stalked forward. “Trust me, Agent Barton, I'm not enjoying it now.”

“And you'll enjoy it even less in a few hours,” he said. “That is the way things go around here.”

*

“It's him.”

Fury gave a faint hum under his breath, a non-committal sound. “Doctor Banner?”

“I have to agree with Tony.” Bruce set his tablet down. “All the scans are conclusive.” He gave Steve a faint, reassuring smile. Steve, perched uncomfortably on the edge of one of the lab benches, tried to return it, but it was a pale imitation of his usual easy grin. “DNA, fingerprints, brain patterns, everything matches his last checks. It's Steve.” Bruce stopped, cleared his throat. “It's our Steve, or-” He looked at Steve. “Sorry. This is, this is weird, you gotta admit, this is weird.”

“For everyone involved,” Tony said. 

“Thanks, Doc,” Steve said. “And yes. This is very weird.” He'd met Tony's eyes only once since he'd walked in, Fury and half a dozen SHIELD agents on his heels. Since then, he'd stared at the far wall of the room, his face set and his eyes hooded. 

Tony signed. “Since science and human intuition all agree,” he said, straight to Fury, “Can we clear out your keystone cops here?” He ran a hand over the edge of the lab bench, his fingers twitching against the unyielding material. He curled his fingers into his palm, resting his knuckles on the bench. “They wouldn't even slow him down, anyway.”

“Thor's outside,” Steve said.

“For Christ's sake,” Tony started, and Steve smiled, just a little. Tony pointed at him. “You. No being amused by this.”

“Amusement seems to be the most dignified response, to be honest,” Steve said. He slid off the bench, but didn't make a move away from it. He braced his hands on the edge, his broad shoulders pushed forward.

Fury nodded at the SHIELD agents. “Thank you, gentlemen, Agent Hill's waiting for your check-in.” As a group, they turned to the door, filing out with military precision. In the silence that followed, Thor leaned through the open door.

“Is all well?” he asked. He looked first to Tony, then to Steve, his face troubled. 

Tony waved him off. “We're fine, big an' blonde.”

Fury crossed his arms over his chest. “Any chance you can make some inquiries about this?” he asked, his voice blunt.

Thor's mouth went tight. “We know of many who can change their form, who can copy another's face, or steal their entire form.” He looked at Tony. “What say you, of your opponent?”

Tony glanced at Steve. Steve stared at his feet. “Whoever he was,” Tony said at last, “I think he believed that he is Steve Rogers.”

“And well, he might be,” Thor said. His arms crossed over his chest, his head tipped to the side as he considered. “There are many worlds, beyond this one. Many holes in the veil that holds us back from one another.” He gave a sharp, decisive nod. “I will speak to Heimdall, and the All-Father. If there is such movement, they may yet see it.” 

He gave them a quick nod. “I shall return, as soon as I have news,” Thor said, before disappearing back out the door. Now that things had stabilized, he seemed happy to have a task to accomplish.

Fury waited until he was gone before he glanced at Bruce. “You want to walk me through this, Doc?” he asked, and it was not really a request. He headed across the lab towards Bruce's desk, but Bruce lagged behind. 

“You both all right with being alone?” he asked.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Really. It's fine.” He waved a hand at Steve. “It's Steve. I'm fine.”

Steve's shoulders jerked. “How do you know?” he asked, his voice low.

“I know you,” Tony pointed out.

“Tony-”

“Well, if you want me to be absolutely certain...” Tony's shoulders rose in a quick shrug. “There's really only one way to know,” he said. Steve's eyes met his, and Tony arched his eyebrows. “Drop your pants.”

Just like that, Steve's face relaxed. “Really, Tony?”

Tony nodded, a smile quirking his lips. “Yeah, this is the right one.”

“I'm just, I'm going to let you run that test on your own,” Bruce said. He patted Tony on the shoulder, his fingers squeezing tight for a second. Tony covered Bruce's hand with his own, his fingers squeezing back.

“I'm fine,” he said, and Bruce nodded. He headed across the lab, his steps quick and uneven, and Tony watched him go, amused. “How're you?” Tony asked Steve.

Steve met his eyes only briefly, his head dipping back down. “Tell me you're okay,” he said, his voice quiet.

Tony waved him off. “I'm fine.” Steve gave him a look, his eyes sharp as he weighed that. Tony gave him a look. “Steve. I am fine.” He leaned against the lab bench, his shoulder brushing up against Steve's. He paused. “And I hate to break your heart, but I'm gonna have to ask that we put off that sexy rollplay where you're the supervillian and you've imprisoned me in your evil lair.” Steve gave him a look. “I know you're heartbroken. I'll make it up to you.”

Steve's smile was slight, but real. “We were never going to do that, Tony.”

“I was wearing you down,” Tony said. 

“No,” Steve said, his smile stretching. “You were not.”

“It's okay, we can still go with the version where I'm the supervillian and I imprison YOU in my evil lair,” Tony said, and something like a laugh slipped out past Steve's control. Tony grinned. “It's sexier that way, anyway. Corrupting the honest and true Captain America, it'll be great, I've already pretty much got a lair here, I can find a room that looks lair-y and then we can-”

“Tony,” Steve said, and he was shaking his head.

“The only problem is it's hard to replicate the old comic storylines without Nazis and there's nothing sexy about Nazis,” Tony mused. “Real mood killer, those assholes, so we're going to have to-”

“Are you trying to distract me?” Steve asked, staring at him. But the horrible, pinched look was gone from his face, from his eyes. He was smiling at Tony with his usual fond warmth, and some terror that Tony hadn't even been aware that he'd been holding disappeared. Relief was heady, and he swayed on his feet.

Steve caught his arm, and despite the speed, despite the suddenness of it, Tony didn't even flinch. He just leaned into the touch. “Is it working?” he asked, with a lopsided smile.

“Pretty sure I should be reassuring you,” Steve said. 

“I'm far more reassuring than you,” Tony said, just to hear Steve laugh again. He tipped his head in Steve's direction. “And you're far more traumatized right now.”

Steve's smile faded. “Tony-”

“Look,” Tony said, cutting him off with ruthless efficiency. “I don't know how to hint any harder for a hug here, Rogers, and you're still not picking up on it.”

He was laughing as he reached for Tony, as his arms closed around Tony's back, gently at first, then with his usual comforting strength. It felt almost like the hugs they'd shared before, when they'd just been friends, and Tony buried his face in Steve's shoulder. He inhaled, and it smelled like Steve, the way he always smelled, soap and clean cotton and warm skin beneath that.

“I'm sorry,” Steve said, the words barely audible, breathed against Tony's temple. “Tell me I didn't hurt you.”

“You didn't hurt me,” Tony said, rubbing his chin against Steve's neck, just to punish him. Steve jerked back with a laugh. Tony smiled at him. “And neither did he.” He arched his eyebrows. “And your hugs are subpar.”

Steve smiled at him. “Is that a challenge, Stark?”

“You gonna rise to it, Rogers?” Tony asked.

“Last time I tried to do that, you tried to give me beard burn.”

“You heal fast,” Tony said, unconcerned. He stuck his chin out, and Steve caught his face with one hand, pushing him away, laughing the whole time. Tony licked his palm, and when Steve pulled his hand away, he leaned in.

Steve met him halfway, the kiss sweet and light, and full of warmth. Tony felt Steve smile against his mouth, and bit lightly at his lower lip. Steve pulled back, laughing, and Tony nipped at his jaw, at his neck. “Are you trying to give me a hickey?” Steve asked, his arms tightening around Tony. “Or just punish me?”

“Maybe I just like the way you taste,” Tony mumbled against his throat.

“Can't argue with that logic,” Steve said, leaning back against the lab bench, pulling Tony snug against him. 

“Well, you could, but you don't want to, do you,” Tony whispered against his skin, just to feel him shiver. Steve said something, but the words were muffled against Tony's hair. Tony pulled away. “What?” he asked.

Steve cupped his cheek with one hand, his thumb stroking along the the line of Tony's cheekbone. “Nothing,” he said, with a faint smile.

Tony's eyes narrowed. “Steve-”

The door opened, and Coulson walked in. “Sir?”

“What've we got?” Fury asked, pulling away from Bruce's station.

“We've isolated the footage of our second player,” Phil said. “I assume you've looked at it?” he asked Tony.

“Only briefly. I had bigger problems,” Tony said. He pulled away from Steve, ignoring just how much he wanted to stay right there. Steve's hands fell away from him, reluctance obvious in his face. Tony gave him a reassuring smile. “And Jarvis was remarkably stubborn about finding me the section I needed.”

“I am sorry, sir,” Jarvis said. There was a note of benign confusion to his voice, as if he wasn't sure what all the fuss was about, but had no choice but to acknowledge it in some way. Tony waved a hand through the air.

“We all have our bad days, Jay, we'll figure it out.” He glanced at Bruce. “Can we just steal one of your-”

Bruce was already heading for one of the large display screens. “Mi casa es su casa,” he said. He paused, his hand in mid-air. “Literally.”

“It's a thing,” Tony agreed. “Jarvis, pull it up for us.”

The screen flickered, and then solidified, clearly footage taken from one of the hall cameras. Tony frowned. “This the best we had?” he asked Phil. “Nothing from inside the workshop?”

Coulson nodded. “Since Jarvis doesn't recognize his presence, we had to scan the footage we had manually.” He frowned at the screen, his brow creased. “There's interference with several of the cameras, the footage is damaged, or degraded. We're not sure why, but one of your two intruders might have been carrying something that scrambled their image.”

“Judging by Jarvis' response, I'm guessing it's special guest star number two.” But Tony let the footage play anyway, his eyes narrowed on the image. The elevator door opened, and the Steve duplicate walked out. It was strange to see it on repeat, this strange sort of introduction to someone he'd thought he'd known.

Stranger still to see the expression that washed across the man's face.

Next to him, Steve was so tense and still that he could've been a statue. “So,” Tony said, his voice low, but still enough to draw Steve's attention, “just remembered, word of warning, I kissed him.” He shrugged, the words inadequate. “Sorry. About that.”

Steve's lips twitched up. “Tony? Someone looks that much like you, I'm kissing him, too.” He shifted, his head turned towards Tony, conveniently missing the scene at the door. “And it's not your fault. It's his.”

Tony took a deep breath. “This is weird,” he said.

“Yes, it is.” Steve's eyes went back to the footage. “Do me a favor, let me know when you've figured out what's going on.”

“I would not hold your breath,” Tony admitted. Steve's hand slipped across his back, the touch cautious, but when Tony leaned into his support, Steve wrapped an arm around Tony's waist, pulling him in close. 

Tony watched, oddly removed, as the footage continued. The elevator doors opened, and the second man walked in, his long legs carrying him along the distance in a few steps. His head twitched up, and Tony's eyes narrowed. He leaned in, pulling away from the support of Steve's arm. "Jay, freeze it."

The image on the screen obediently stilled, catching the man in the act of looking directly into the camera. It had been an instant, barely a twitch of his his head, but he was staring straight into the lens, a faint, amused smile curling his wide mouth. 

Bruce cleared his throat. "How did he know it was there?"

Tony glanced back. "What?"

Bruce's shoulders jerked in a quick shrug. "That camera isn't visible, is it?" His eyes narrowed as he studied the image. "But, but he's looking right at it. Dead center. He's not scanning for something, he's not looking FOR a camera, he's looking AT the camera."

Steve huffed out a breath. "He knew it was there already."

Tony braced a hand on the console, his free hand rubbing hard at his mouth and chin. "He knows my systems."

Phil gave him a sideways look, his face unreadable. "How do you know?"

"Because he knew the camera was there, but he didn't avoid it. He knew that Jay couldn't 'see' him," Tony said, shaking his head. "No reason to duck a camera that's pretty much a blind eye, but he couldn't resist looking at it."

Bruce rocked back on his heels. "Do you know him?" he asked. “Is he an employee, maybe part of the tech crew that did the install?”

Tony studied the face, weighing that question. It was an ordinary sort of face, attractive in a way that didn't strike him as being particularly handsome, but the features were balanced and symmetrical. Strong jawline, strong black brows, sharp eyes. His skin was an olive brown, a tone that could've indicated Latino heritage, any number of Mediterranean countries, or just a particularly good tan. There was nothing familiar about the face.

But there was something familiar about him. Tony's eyes closed, trying to puzzle his way through that contradiction. "I don't think so," he said at last.

"You don't 'think' so?" Fury asked, sardonic and low.

Tony swiveled his head in the man's direction. "No," he repeated, "I don't 'think' so." He pushed himself up. "I don't know." One hand slashed through the air, gesturing angrily towards the image. “Situation's a bit weird here, forgive me for not being able to supply you with a social security number and last known address.”

Fury's eyebrows arched. “Would've settled for a name, but that would've be nice.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Tony said. With a stab of his finger, he set the image in motion again. “Besides, isn't that your specialty, Nick? Aren't you the guy with access to every camera on earth, eyes in the sky, ect, ect?”

It was Phil who answered. “Yes,” he said. “And we have no match.” He was watching the footage, his eyes hooded, as the man simply reached out and pulled the door open, without even touching the keypad. Despite that, the door opened without a pause. Phil glanced at Tony. “Whoever he is? He's either very good at keeping out of systems, or he's a ghost.”

“Is that possible?” Bruce asked. He ran a hand through his hair, further disordering the strands. “I mean, how?”

“It's possible,” Fury told him. “Not probable.”

“Person would have to be very, very good at staying out of state databases, and have redundancies in place to clear their image or data out of any spy networks,” Phil said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “It's not something we would expect to see, but...” He tipped his head towards the screen. “If he can get around your security systems, he can get around ours.”

“Supposition, Phil,” Fury said. 

“He asked it if was possible, answer's yes.”

“Or,” Steve said, his voice quiet, “he's not from around here.” Everyone turned to look at him, but he never looked away from the footage. “Which seems logical, doesn't it? The-” He stopped, his throat working as he swallowed. “The first one came looking for Tony. The second came looking for him.”

“So he might be someone who doesn't exist here,” Tony said. “Or, he didn't. Until very recently.”

“Maybe,” Steve agreed.

“Still. Recently doesn't mean he hasn't been here before,” Fury said. “We'll see what Thor can find out, and throw the rest of this through the databases.”

“You really think we'll find anything of use?” Steve asked.

“We'll keep looking until we do.” Fury gave him a tight smile. “We're nothing if not stubborn, Cap.”

Tony's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he took a step back. “Jarvis, pull up the next sequence for us,” he said, even as he pulled the phone out. A quick glance showed Pepper's number, and he headed across the lab. “I need to take this.”

Steve gave him a concerned look, but Tony waved him off. “Be right back,” he assured Steve, who turned back to the new camera footage. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Tony asked, wandering to the far side of the room.

“I find myself in town, and in need of some company for lunch,” she said, and he could hear the smile in every word, in every syllable. 

Tony made a face that she couldn't see, but he had no doubt that she knew it was there. “Kind of in the middle of a crisis here, Pep. Maybe tomorrow?”

"Don't give me that," she said, and she was laughing at him now. "I'm the one who handles your crises."

"Only on the business end of things." He caught himself smiling, and shoved a hand through his hair. "This might surprise you, Ms. Potts, but I do have a life outside of you and StarkIndustries, it's a small pathetic life, but still, running around, saving the world, it's a thing, a thing that I do with some success." He paused. “You might not have noticed.”

"I do my best not to notice, it's hard on my nerves,” she admitted. “But it can't be a personal emergency, or an Avengers emergency either, because Steve is over here with me, and he's the one who handles all of your other crises."

Tony's heart stuttered to a stop in his chest. Slowly, he raised his head, his eyes locking on Steve. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice seeming to come from a distance as he watched Steve lean forward, his face tight as he studied Jarvis's security footage. Next to him, Fury was standing, arms crossed, brow furrowed. Tony was too far away to hear the conversation, but he could read body language well enough to know that neither of them was particularly happy. 

But both of them were right there.

“Let me check,” she said, her voice full of laughter. There was a pause, then she said, “I'm pretty sure it's Steve.”

"Well, it is hard to tell sometimes. He ask you to call me?" Tony asked, his voice carefully modulated. Trying for amusement. For easy acceptance. His heart was pounding in his chest, hard and fast, his breathing loud in his ears.

"He might've implied that I had a better chance of prying you out of there than he did," Pepper said, still happy, still amused by the situation. Tony wanted to scream. "I did point out that he's got better lures for you right now, but..."

"But we all know that you're still the boss." Tony pushed himself away from the console. His free hand was trembling, an almost invisible twitch of muscles. Balling his fingers into a fist, he slipped it into his pocket.

"That does explain my ulcer and my paycheck," Pepper agreed. “Come to lunch. I deserve it, and so does Steve.”

Tony's eyes shut. “Yeah. Give me a second to get loose over here, and I'll head over.” His brain was buzzing with things that he couldn't do, couldn't say. Couldn't risk. “Tell Steve I'm on my way over, all right? And tell him that if he absconds with you before I get there, I will not be happy.”

Laughing, she repeated it, then came back on the line. “He says, you'd better hurry. And the reservation's for three, so don't show up with the entire team or we're leaving without you.”

Tony's teeth gritted. “I figured. Okay, Pep, I'll be right there.”

“Looking forward to it, Tony.” She hung up, and for far too long, for seconds that seemed to last hours, he just stood there, his fingers locked around his phone, listening to the silence on the line. He felt like he was bleeding out, he'd felt that once before, and it was enough, enough for his entire life.

Slowly, his hand dropped to his side, and he slipped his phone into his pocket. Mechanically, his steps almost out of control, he started for the door, his mind racing far ahead of his body. If he had any chance of fixing this, if he had any chance at all, he had to think. He had to think, calm and rational.

He could not break down. 

"Where are you going?"

Biting back a curse, Tony tipped his head back. Phil. How could he have forgotten about Phil? He was standing just back from the others, and while neither Fury nor Steve seemed to have noticed Tony's movement, Tony hadn't managed to slip past Phil.

Tony slid his phone into his pocket. “They're run into a problem down in the workshop, a redundancy that I need to go disable.” He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. “For obvious reasons, I'm not going to trust Jarvis to handle it. Some things, it'd be fine, but this is the sort of thing that could blow up in our faces.” He paused. “Literally.”

Phil's eyes were sharp beneath the line of his brows, his head swinging slowly to follow Tony's progress across the workshop floor. “Natasha said that they were handling it.”

“It's my workshop, I think I know it a little better than you or your minions do, Coulson,” Tony said, smirking at him. “I'll be right back, don't blow anything up while I'm gone.” Without waiting for a response, he slipped out the door and into the hall. 

“Keep them here, Jarvis,” he said, three steps away from the lab and running already. Running full out, his heart pounding in his chest, he shot for the stairs. “Slow the elevators, delay door openings, whatever you can do to slow them down. Understood?”

“Understood, sir.” Jarvis paused as Tony slipped through the doors of the elevators. 

“Garage,” he snapped. “There's a suitcase suit down there.” Not his best choice, but it seemed like it was his only one. With Clint and Natasha in the workshop, there was no chance he was going to get his hands on a better one without them figuring out what was happening. And trying to stop him. 

He cursed, low and vicious, turning and driving a fist into the elevator wall. The impact rolled up his arm, shaking his bones, and he sucked in a breath. He needed to stay calm. He pulled his phone our of his pocket with fingers that stung. “Get me a secure line to Rhodey.”

“Yes, sir.”

He stepped out of the elevator as the call connected. “Rhodes.”

“Listen, I've got trouble,” he said, without preamble. “Don't talk to the Avengers, or SHIELD, until I have time to explain.”

“Tony, what-”

“I fucked this up,” Tony snapped. “I-” He stopped, forcing himself back under control. He wrenched the suitcase suit out of its storage unit and tossed it down. It scraped hard across the floor, metal on concrete. “I need you to trust me. Don't do anything they ask, don't talk to them if you can avoid it, and if you see them coming, get out. Understand?”

“You can't just throw this at me-”

“I need you to trust me.” Tony slammed his fists down on the case. “For once in your life, Rhodes, I need you to-”

“I trust you.” Rhodey's breathing was audible over the line. “And I'm going to trust you, Tone. But tell me this isn't going to blow up in my face.”

“I need you to protect yourself,” Tony said. “I need- I need that.” The suit unfolded around him swirling into place like a cocoon. “Understand?”

“Call me. As soon as you can,” was all Rhodey said. “Tony, do you need my help, I can be there-” 

Tony cut the connection. “Sorry,” he said, even though Rhodey couldn't hear him any more. “This one's on me.”

*

Hunter hated wasting time; he always had so little to spare.

Two steps forward, one step back. He didn't understand, and he disliked that. He really, really disliked that. There was a pattern, for as long as he could remember, there had always been a pattern. 

This did not fit the pattern. And that was not good.

It was hard not to run, now. He wanted to run, he needed to run. But running called attention to himself, and he couldn't afford it now. Not if the rules of the game had changed. If they had, he had more than Steven to consider. He had Tony Stark, and SHIELD, and the Avengers.

He had an entire world that he now had to consider, and the weight of that pressed down on him.

He didn't run. He would not run. He kept his movement at a low, steady jog, his feet barely touching the sidewalk as he wove his way back through the city. He knew where he was going, this time, even though he knew that his target would no longer be there. Steven would know better than to return to Avengers tower at this point. He couldn't fight them all, not on his own. He would have to find another way.

Hunter cut around a corner, slipping easily through the crowds. It was hard. It was hard to move away from his target, to know that Steven was now moving in a different direction. It went against his instincts, it went against his very nature.

But he needed more information now. And there was only one place he could go to get it.

Avengers Tower loomed above him, and now he was running. There was a door, he knew where to find it, an emergency exit tucked behind a wall, out of sight of the street and the sidewalk. It opened out, but there was no handle on the outside, no keypad or card swipe. It did, however, have a surveillance camera, and that was all he needed.

He held up a hand, looking directly into the camera. “Hello, Jarvis,” he said, a faint smile creasing his face. “Open sesame.”

There was a beat of a pause, and then the silence was broken by the faint clicks of the locks disengaging. The door opened with a hiss, and Hunter slipped his fingers into the thin gap. “Thank you, Jay,” he said. There was no response, but he hadn't been expecting one.

Unseen, unnoticed, he stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. It was time for him to figure out exactly what was happening here.

*

Pepper looked up with a smile as Tony strode through the door. It lasted until she realized that he was in the armor. “Tony, if you dent my floors, I will have your head.”

She was fine. She was glaring at him, her mouth pursed up tight, her perfect little pale blue suit unwrinkled, her hair smooth and undisturbed. She was fine.

Tony breathed for the first time in what felt like hours.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice grim through the armor's speakers.

“Tony, what-”

“Are you all right?” he repeated. The thing with Steve's face was sitting, his body relaxed, a faint smile on his face, in one of her guest chairs. He hadn't even glanced in Tony's direction, he just sat, his head down, his hands folded in his lap.

Tony resisted the urge to shoot him in the crotch.

“I'm fine, Tony, what are you-”

“Pepper, I need you to get up and leave the room,” Tony said.

“Tony-” the not-Steve said, and Tony's hand came up, repulsor humming. He fell silent.

Pepper was frozen, her eyes huge. “Tony?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“Pepper. Please. Get out.”

She rose slowly to her feet, her face almost chalk white. “Tony, what do I do?”

“Walk out,” Tony said. “Take everyone. Walk out. Evacuate. Understand?”

Pepper nodded. “Understood.” Her steps easy and measured, she walked to the door. Tony heard her call her secretary over, and then the door shut behind her.

The thing, the thing that looked like Steve, looked at him. “Hello, Tony.”

Tony flipped up the faceplate of the armor, because he needed eye contract now. He stared the thing down. “You have a name?”

“Captain Steven Rogers,” he said. “You can call me Rogers, if that makes things easier for you.”

"It doesn't. Let's get one thing clear. The last asshole who went after Pepper didn't make it out of the building alive," Tony pointed out, his voice very quiet. "If I were you, I wouldn't consider him a role model." He gave Rogers a tight smile. "I got friends who are really good at making bodies disappear."

Rogers smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, just a little. He rocked himself up to his feet, spreading his hands wide. "Sorry," he said, and he sounded just like Steve, that faintly amused, faintly approving tone that Steve got when he was comfortable, when he was around people he trusted. His eyes, when he looked at Tony, were impossible to read. “I needed to talk to you. I didn't think you'd agree to see me.”

“Wow, brilliant, can't imagine why you'd reach this conclusion.” 

Rogers's eyes dropped to the repulsor. “Well, there's the fact that you're currently holding a weapon on me,” he said, smiling.

“You went after Pepper,” Tony said, enunciating each word carefully. “You're lucky I didn't come through the window, using my 'fuck it, fire everything' protocol.”

“It didn't work last time,” Rogers pointed out.

“A. I have missiles now,” Tony said. “And B., I'm not aiming for your face any more. Let's see if aiming a bit lower slows you down a bit more.” His teeth flashed. “I'll enjoy it a hell of a lot more.”

Rogers gave a faint, easy chuckle. “Same as always, Tony.” 

Tony's hand snapped out, the repulsor whining with the force of it. "I am not your Tony," Tony said, his voice vicious. "And you are not our Steve. Let's make that clear. We've got one of you. Big guy. American icon. Looks good in blue." He gave Rogers a tight smile. "Doesn't threaten Pepper."

“I didn't so much as frighten her,” Rogers said, his voice gentle. He glanced at the door. “You're the one who scared the stuffing out of her, Tony.” He slowly shook his head, never breaking eye contact with Tony the entire time. “I never laid a finger on her, I never-”

“Fuck you,” Tony snapped. “You came here. You involved her. You had-”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I needed your help.”

“Needed?”

Rogers shrugged. “Things have changed.” He took a breath, slowly expanding with it. “You changed it. That thing changed it.” He smiled, and it was horrifying. “Tony-”

“No.” Tony shook his head. “Not your Tony. You do have one don't you?”

He paused. “No.”

“Why, did he leave you?” Tony shrugged. “Starks. Can't trust them.”

“He died.” Rogers smile didn't reach his eyes.

Tony's breath stilled in his throat. “The wormhole?” Rogers shook his head. “The arc reactor, Hammer, his own drinking?”

“No, he was tougher than that,” Rogers said. He paused. “Amazingly tough.”

“So what killed him?”

Rogers met his eyes. “Me.”

In the empty silence that followed, Rogers glanced at the door. “They'll be missing you,” Rogers said. He reached out, and Tony took a step back, staying out of reach. Rogers's face fell, his eyes going sad and empty. Tony stared at him, a horrible suspicion washing over him.

"What did I-" He stopped, his eyes squeezing shut. "What did he do?"

Rogers's breath hitched, an almost inaudible tell. But Tony was waiting for it. Was prepared for it. He opened his eyes, meeting Rogers's gaze head-on. Rogers smiled, just a little twitch of his lips. "What makes you think he did anything?"

"Because that's not something you do lightly. You had a reason."

His smile stretched, but it didn't reach his eyes. "So you've decided to trust me."

"I've decided you're not lying about this one thing, that does not equate to trust, it means that I've picked out something that sounds like it could be the truth out of the giant pile of lies you've been building up." Rogers huffed out a laugh, sharp and hard, and Tony crossed his arms. "Want to let me in on the joke?"

Rogers pushed himself upright. "Just the fact that the only thing you believe is that I would kill you." He shoved a hand through his hair, the muscles in his shoulders tight. "What does that say about our relationship, Tony?"

"It says that you do what needs doing, and that we don't have a relationship." He leaned forward, his body canted towards Rogers. "What. Did. He. Do."

Rogers's eyes dropped away, the heavy weight of his lashes hiding them for an instant. When he looked back up, it was with a slight, melancholy smile. "What he thought was best."

"For who?" Tony's eyebrows arched. "For himself, for-"

"For everyone," Rogers said. "He wanted to save us." He shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling. "It didn't work out the way he wanted it to."

"It usually doesn't."

Rogers smiled, and his blue eyes caught the light, and Tony felt his skin crawl. "I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to save you," he said, so close that Tony could feel the heat of his breath, could almost feel the vibration of the words against his lips.

“I,” Tony snarled out, “do not need to be saved.” He leaned in. “Especially not by you.”

“But you do,” Rogers said. He turned, heading for the door. “After all, Tony, I know what's coming. And you don't. If you'd like to make sure that you survive, you need me.” He paused. “And maybe you don't care about your own survival, Tony. But you absolutely care about everyone else's.” 

He looked back. “Don't you?”

Tony said nothing, and Rogers raised one hand, flicking him an easy, two fingered salute. “I'll be seeing you soon, Tony. Say hi to Clint for me.”

Tony's eyes narrowed. “What-” was as far as he got before the window behind him blew out with a bang. The armor's faceplate snapped down as glass fragments rained down on the carpet all around him. Tony twisted, one hand coming up, repulsor at the ready, and the HUD picked up his target in an instant.

Clint was dangling suspended against the building across the way, his body hanging upside down with his feet braced on the side of the building and his back bent to an almost impossible angle. He gave Tony a little wave, and Tony twisted back around.

The office was empty. Rogers was gone.

Cursing, Tony triggered his comm unit. “Don't suppose I can convince you not to tell anyone about this?” he asked.

“There is not enough booze in the world,” Clint said. “And Stark? Potts is downstairs yelling at Fury. If you'd like everyone to emerge from this uninjured, I would get your ass in gear.”

Tony headed for the empty wall where Pepper's perfectly functional window used to be. “Yeah. You owe me a window.”

“I owe Pepper a window. And you can put it on my bill.” Clint flipped around, repelling downwards. "Stop stalling. You are in so much fucking trouble."

"I got that."

*


End file.
